


Whiskey Sour

by TinyOctopus



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe — World War II, Aww Look! They Really Do Love Each Other, Banter, Bisexual Disaster Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Denial of Feelings, Disclaimer: Author Knows Nothing of 1940s American Slang, Explicit Language, Happy Ending, Internalized Homophobia, Kissing in the Rain, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Pacific Theater, Period-Typical Attitudes, Reaper76 Summer Event 2019, Rivals to Lovers, Sailor Jokes, Sexuality Crisis, Stupid Sexy Jack Morrison, Unreliable Narrator, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-05-15 04:01:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19287700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyOctopus/pseuds/TinyOctopus
Summary: When Gabriel Reyes set out to enjoy himself at the pathetic excuse for a bar on this God-forsaken malaria-infested hell, the second to last last thing he expected was to get caught in a rainstorm, wet season or no.Thelastthing he expected was to save a drowning idiot, especially when that drowning idiot turned out to be Jack Morrison. Until the rain stopped, Gabriel was stuck under a palm tree with a man who made his blood boil.Really, he should've just let him drown.





	Whiskey Sour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dan_Francisco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dan_Francisco/gifts).



> Happy belated birthday, Dan. Sorry this is horribly late. Thank you for letting me play in your WWII sandbox. ♡
> 
> Shout-out to [revenblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/revenblue/pseuds/revenblue) and [Skierunner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skierunner/pseuds/Skierunner) for helping me whip this piece into something coherent, and for giving enough of a ship to help me out with puns and slang.

"Fucking hell," Gabriel swore, his words drowned out by the rain hammering against the leafy canopy overhead.

With one hand on the tree trunk behind him, Gabriel leaned forward to peer down at the muddied river surging past him on all sides. He could almost see the rock he'd used to climb up on this little makeshift island, so maybe, if he was careful, he could— _shit._ Gabriel scrabbled back up the incline to relative safety and breathed out a stream of curses that would make his _abuelita_ turn over in her grave. A pang of guilt settled sharp and hot in his stomach, and Gabriel groaned at the stupid, traitorous feeling. 

Of all the fucking things. 

Morrison always chided him for language, and he was a sailor, for Christ's sake. Not like anyone actually cared about who said what when they were in the middle of an ugly, desperate war on these God-forsaken, malaria-infested islands. Not like anyone could think when they were all blistered from sun and sea-wind alike, starving and dehydrated from shit water and even shittier food — even by military standards. 

Gabriel sucked in his teeth as a wave of storm surge slapped against his boots. Guess he was fucking stuck here. Better to wait out the storm than risk drowning. He could swim, sure, unlike many of the idiots stationed out here in this hell masquerading as a tropical paradise, but he wasn't about to die to some fucking water. Even the best of swimmers would have a hard time cutting through this shit. 

Minutes ago, the river at his feet had been a trustworthy, narrow dirt path filled with more divots and wagon tracks than smooth ground — the kind of thing only a cab happy drunkard weaving around in a Jeep would call a road. But now? Looking at the waist-high surge of water, Gabriel would never even thought there had been a road there if he hadn't walked down it himself. Made the mudslides back home look tame by comparison. 

Unless he had a boat, a death wish, and the upper body strength of God, there was no way in hell he was making it back to what passed for civilization on this shitty, mosquito-infested hell of an island with a fucking unpronounceable name. All he'd wanted was some good company, food that didn't come out of a God-damn tin can, and whatever passed for alcohol in the middle of fucking nowhere — the expected pastime of a marine on liberty. Instead, he was huddled under the shelter of a copse of palm trees planted on a grassy rise, soaked to the bone and hoping to God the downpour stopped before he drowned. 

Gabriel sighed and leaned back against the sturdy tree trunk behind him. Water splashed down onto him despite the canopy of palm fronds overhead, but he wasn't about to complain. It was better than nothing, especially if he was going to be caught out here until God remembered his promise not to drown the world again.

Sure, Gabriel _could_ have listened to the locals warning him about the storm brewing on the horizon and stayed inside, but he'd needed some stress relief and an excuse to get as far away from John Francis Fucking Morrison as possible. Considering the way Morrison showed zero interest in doing anything that could possibly constitute fun, there was no way in hell the straight-laced, wide-eyed farm boy would go near an establishment advertising itself with the picture of a naked woman out front. Would probably faint at the very sight. He just _screamed_ awkward virgin, and if Morrison hadn't been such a jackass, Gabriel would have even done him a favor and helped him out. But no, Morrison could go fuck his precious doctrine manual since he loved it so much — maybe that would make him less of a prick. 

Only Morrison could strut around the deck of a ship without a shirt on, sweating and blistering under the midday sun, and still manage to be insufferably talkative and amicable and so God-damn persistent. The last time they'd spoken, Gabriel had thought he'd done a good job of dissuading Morrison from prying into his love life — which was fine, thank you very fucking much — by bloodying his nose after the blonde haired idiot couldn't pick a different topic of discussion, but Morrison seemed particularly thick, even by Indiana standards. 

_Of course_ Gabriel Reyes had a lass back home, waiting for him to return with a heaving bosom, tear-stained eyes, and a child on the way. Sure, her name and description changed every so often because like hell Gabriel was going to keep the details of a made-up woman straight, but only Morrison had the audacity to point out the inconsistencies. 

He was a prick, plain and simple, and for some damned reason, he reveled in mocking Gabriel as if it was America's favorite pastime. Besides saving the God-damn world, of course. Didn't they have football out in the middle of bumfuck Indiana? They had to at least have something else besides corn, corn, and more fucking corn. And soybeans. Gabriel remembered, once upon a time when he'd humored Morrison's pathetic excuse for small talk, that the Morrison family farm had also grown soybeans. 

Everyone — except Morrison, who was as dumb as a shovel and half as useful — had a woman waiting for them back home, regardless of the truth behind it. Good for morale to have something to look forward to on shitty days when it seemed like there was more water falling out of the sky than in the ocean, right? It was also the best way to not get the shit kicked out of you because some bastards thought you _queer._

Gabriel kicked the palm tree, even though it didn't deserve that kind of treatment. 

Fuck, only Morrison could work him up even though he was nowhere in sight. Unlike Gabriel, the blonde idiot was probably holed up somewhere, laughing as he sipped an ice cold beer someone had given him. Of course the perfect fucking Morrison that everyone adored wouldn't even foot his own tab. All it probably took was him batting his stupidly pretty eyelashes, too, easy as you please. Who wouldn't buy him a drink? Just imagining the God-damn smirk on Morrison's face — the prick was always so confident and all-knowing, damn him — made Gabriel's cheeks burn. 

Gabriel raked a frustrated hand through his rain-slicked hair and leaned back against the tree in an easy pose — the sort he could maintain for hours because only God knew when the sky would clear and this downpour would stop. He needed to get out of his head, since his brain refused to fixate on anything except John Francis Fucking Morrison. Forget hell. This island with its fucking unpronounceable name should have just been called 'Purgatory' instead. 

With a long, drawn-out sigh, Gabriel closed his eyes, letting the steady patter of rain above his head, the rush of water at his feet, and the rustle of the palm branches overhead wash over him. He startled when pieces of debris crashed into each other, and between one breath and the next, the sound almost reminded him of a human voice before the water drowned out the sound. His belt wasn't long enough to fasten around the tree, so he couldn't safely nod off and expect not to fall into the water, but he looked around nonetheless, just in case there was something he could use to anchor himself. 

No such fucking luck.

God, he wished there was something to fucking _do_. He wasn't asking for a dime novel to appear out of nowhere, but fuck, that would be nice. The imagined sound of a human-like yell — with nothing, absolutely nothing to indicate the source — was starting to get on his nerves. Gabriel scanned the river again, just to be certain, and he sighed to himself when there was nothing but palm leaves, the rare piece of corrugated metal, and the occasional coconut floating in the dark water. So where the fuck was that noise coming from? It seemed like it was getting louder, too, which meant that Gabriel was actually going crazy from sheer boredom alone. 

Rolling his eyes, Gabriel swept his gaze up and down the river again. There was absolutely nothing to see except—oh fuck. That wasn't a piece of driftwood at all, was it? That was a _person_ in the torrent of water in Satan himself wouldn't cross. 

Several hundred feet away and getting closer by the second, someone was drowning. Gabriel tracked the the wild flailing of their arms and inconsistent bob of mud-brown hair above the waterline. Fuck. Asshole he may be, Gabe still wasn't about to let some poor fool drown right in front of him.

He dove into the water, cutting across the current — dangerous but manageable — with steady, smooth strokes. God, please help the drowning bastard keep his head above water and remain fully conscious until they got back to land. 

When he got within arm's reach, the drowning bastard latched onto him with a white-knuckled grip. The sudden added weight dragged Gabriel under, and he choked down a mouthful of gritty, rust-colored water. For a terrifying, claustrophobic moment, he couldn't breathe, couldn't see anything past the brown murk closing in around him. There was an iron grip around his head and shoulders, pressing him farther and farther down into the murk. Gabriel thrashed. When a knee to the groin failed, he kicked upward, grappling with the drowning bastard until his head broke the surface at long fucking last. 

Gabriel spat out a mouthful of gritty water and inhaled a blessed lungful of air. Unfortunately, the drowning bastard latched back onto him in his mindless panic. Fuck. At this rate, they were _both_ going to drown. 

The drowning bastard was too far gone to realize anything past the animal instinct of, 'Keep your head above the water.' While it was understandable, it was also beyond frustrating. 

Then, inspiration struck. 

Inhaling a quick lungful of air, Gabriel dove back beneath the surface. Just as he predicted, the drowning bastard let go once his hind brain realized Gabriel was dragging him farther down beneath the water. And struck his temple with a closed fist. Motherfucker. Gabriel resurfaced a few feet away. 

This time, he approached from behind. Grabbing the arm closest to him, Gabriel manhandled the drowning bastard so he was facing away. Gabriel dared the bastard to try to drown them both again with his arms wrenched above his head. 

Once he grappled the drowning bastard so he could float on his back, buoyed by Gabriel's chest, Gabriel began to kick back to shore, one arm steady around the drowning bastard's torso. Now that he could keep his head above the water for more than a few seconds at at time, the drowning bastard seemed much calmer, thank God. Gabriel could focus on towing him back to shore, which was a fucking relief, since he was starting to feel the burn of exertion in his limbs. He may be God's gift to this fucking planet, but even he wouldn't be able to keep this up for much longer.

With herculean effort and silent promises to hold the bastard's head under the water if he struggled any more, Gabriel finally reached another copse of trees. Thank God. He hauled the bastard onto the shore, and once the other man felt solid land against his shoulder, he made himself useful and scrabbled up the incline. Gabriel followed after him once he was certain the bastard wouldn't fall back into the water. He stood outside the canopy of trees, letting the rain wash off the thick sludge. There weren't enough showers in the world to wash away the slimy feeling of heavy, mud-caked linen clinging to him like a second skin. 

Fuck, after saving his sorry ass, the bastard had better be grateful to him for the rest of his life. He owed Gabriel big time. The least he could do was buy him dinner and a few rounds of drinks to start.

"Thanks," the other man coughed out, his shoulders heaving with the effort to expel God knows how much water he'd swallowed while flailing about. That had been a piss-poor job of trying to keep his head above the waterline. "I would've drowned if you hadn't jumped in there all heroic and gallant to save me."

"Never gonna understand why they shipped off so many idiots who can't swim to a place with nothing but water," Gabriel said, standing nearby in case the other man lost his balance on the slick grass. If he could talk, he hadn't inhaled _that_ much water, even if his voice sounded as if he'd gargled with glass and salt water on a daily basis. "Save your thanks for when the rain stops. If it ever does."

The other man swiped a hand across his face and laughed. "Never thought I'd need to swim in anything bigger than a waist-high creek." 

"You call that swimming? Looked more like drowning to me." Gabriel guided the other man beneath the rainwater streaming down from a listing palm frond. "Stand here for a spell 'til that shit washes off." 

"It's called drowning with style." The other man laughed like he'd just told the funniest joke in the world. 

Gabriel looked away to hide his smile at the bastard's fucking nerve. His shirt stuck to his skin, and since it was useless at keeping him dry and unneeded to keep him warm, Gabriel shucked it off and hung it over his shoulder. The sound of splashing and an honest-to-God moan drew Gabriel's attention back. 

He'd made a terrible, terrible mistake. 

At first, Gabriel honestly hadn't intended to stare, but there wasn't anything else to look at besides rain, rain, rain, and more rain — and he'd already spent God knew how long doing that. Thank God the other man seemed oblivious. 

The man in question tipped his head back as if he was taking a God-damn shower, easy as you please. Rivulets of brown-black mud tracked down his face, and even through the thick layer of mud, his lips were chapped to hell and back like he'd never heard of Vaseline before. The longer Gabriel watched, the more the rainwater revealed mottled skin: pale in some spots, splotched red in others. When Gabriel squinted, there was a dusting of freckles across strong, broad shoulders. 

As the water washed away the grime, Gabriel noticed the tattoos snaking down the other man's arm. Very familiar tattoos, in fact. The kind of tattoos Gabriel had mocked for hours on end because their owner was a charmingly superstitious asshole, even as far as sailors went. Every inch of the nautical symbols, images, and words carved into sun-blistered skin had a purpose and meaning. Talismans, good luck charms, and memories given permanence in a way the scar from an accident with a barb wire fence around the perimeter of the family farm could never achieve. 

Of all the fucking people he had to save from drowning… 

Without a word, Gabriel bent down, scooped up a handful of mud, and smeared it across Morrison's forehead. The loud, wet squelch was oh-so satisfying. For good measure, Gabriel dragged his palm downward, pleased with the look of utter confusion on Morrison's stupid face. God, he wished he had a camera right then and there, just to savor the moment forever — or maybe just capture how the dark mud somehow made the blue of Morrison's eyes stand out even more. Then, Gabriel realized he was touching Morrison's chest — the one full of hard muscle and warm skin — and pulled his hand away as if the contact burned. 

Was it too late to push him back into the water? 

"Christ, Reyes." Exasperation was a good look on Morrison. "I'd _just_ managed to get the worst of that shit off, too, and then you had to go and throw it back on me like you're five years old. What the hell's wrong with you, huh?" Morrison stepped back out into the rain, careful of his footing so he didn't lose his balance and topple backwards. Sure, he may have almost drowned minutes ago, but if he could bitch about getting his stupidly attractive face dirty, he was fine. More than fine, even if he lacked a shirt like any proper, decent person. It was very distracting, if Gabriel had to be honest. 

Why the fuck wasn't he wearing a shirt?

"It's an improvement." Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest and turned sharply on his heel rather than look at Morrison for one minute longer. Sure, he didn't trust Morrison at his back, but it was better than giving into the urge to shove him up against a tree. 

Rather than rise to the bait, Morrison said nothing, seemingly content to stand there in silence rather than give Gabriel an excuse. _Fucking coward._

"Why the fuck did I have to save your sorry ass, anyway?" Gabriel growled out. "Figured you were too superstitious to head outside with a storm on the horizon." 

"I wanted to hit up this bar some of the guys have been talking about. Sure, it's an uncivilized hellhole compared to back home, but that's all part of the charm." Morrison laughed. "Lukewarm beer, ice cream from a powdered milk can, and food that looks like it's been eaten by actual human beings sounds real good after eating that slop in the mess day in and day out." 

"Do you want an egg in your beer, too?" Gabriel snorted, and then Morrison's words sank in. "Wait. You were heading to the bar?" Something sharp and vicious twisted in his gut, probably because he now owed Liao his cigarettes for the next month. Yeah, that was it. 

"Uh-huh. Where were _you_ headed? The only place that sells beer on this island is on the exact opposite side of the island." 

"Are you fucking serious?" Gabriel hissed out, hand clenched into a fist. He turned on his heel, and the look on Morrison's face — serious, albeit confused, without a trace of mockery — answered his question. His head thunked back against the tree trunk. "Why the fuck would Rogers give me the wrong directions?" 

"Well," Morrison began, a strange, hesitant note in his voice, "I don't know about you and this Rogers fella, but you can kind of be an asshole sometimes. He probably just wanted to give you a run-around the island as a bit of a joke, yeah? You would have found it eventually."

"What do you mean I'm _sometimes_ an asshole? I'm nice — real nice — unlike you." 

Morrison had the fucking audacity to laugh just then. "Is that what you think?" 

"I'm nice," Gabriel protested. "Everyone says I'm nice!" 

"Everyone says that because they know you'd deck them in the jaw for saying otherwise. For the record, in case your Ma taught you different, Reyes, that's not very nice." Morrison had that mischievous gleam in his stupidly blue eyes. 

"That so? Well, I'm gonna—" Gabriel caught himself, groaned, and very pointedly lowered his fist. "Why the fuck does everyone say you're nice, then?" Everyone who wasn't touched in the head knew Morrison was a jackass; it was his name, after all. 

"'Cause when Sonoma asks if his wife is pretty, I can actually lie instead of saying, 'Fuck no, Sonoma, she looks like a donkey.'" Morrison's shoulders shook with laughter, and not for the first, second, or even twelfth time, Gabriel thought it was a nice sound. "Plus, unlike you, I remember to smile. You should try it sometime." 

"Are you insulting me or are you trying to tell me to smile more? In case you forgot, I'm not some dame you're trying to court." If he puffed out his chest just then, it meant nothing. Absolutely nothing. Gabriel wasn't posing for Morrison, even if — for some reason — he wanted to remind him that he wasn't some _dame_. 

"Oh, I remember, trust me." Morrison grinned. "Really, it's probably a bit of both? I mean, you're turning just a little bit red there." 

He couldn't stand it any longer. They weren't friends, so they weren't supposed to joke around with each other so easy and pleasant. Morrison was teasing him like they'd known each other since childhood. The back of his neck prickled. 

With his face hot and flushed, Gabriel turned to face the other man, his shoulders square and fists clenched. "How come you never squealed?" 

Morrison blinked at him, eyes wide and oh-so very blue. "What'cha mean?" 

"Last time we met," Gabriel said, enunciating his words carefully; Morrison was thick-headed at the best of times, "I bloodied your nose because you didn't know when to leave well enough alone. Figured a prick like you would write a T.S. slip and send it off to the chaplain faster than anything. You'd just revel in causing trouble for me." 

For a moment, Gabriel heard nothing but the rain and the unsteady beat of his heart.

"Not sure why you'd think that, but I ain't a snitch." Morrison sounded offended, as if Gabriel had insulted his mother rather than his oh-so precious honor. Fuck, he was like one of those fairytale princes, except worse. "'Sides, even if there had been someone around to see, I gave you plenty of bruises in return, so it wasn't like I let you hit me without giving you a few licks in return. For a while there, the bruisin' around your eye looked as pretty as a sunset," Morrison drawled, the smirk audible in his voice. 

"My mistake: of course you're too honest and straight-laced to tattle. While most of us were puking up our guts and shitting out what the rest, you were memorizing the code of conduct." Gabriel thunked his head back against the tree, the rough bark grounding against the overwhelming urge to close the distance between them and wipe the smug grin off Morrison's face. 

"I'm not—" From the other side of the tree, Morrison groaned out a wordless sound of frustration. It was almost attractive, the sort of noise Gabriel would want to see replicated, if he was actually queer and interested in a guy like Morrison. "I don't want to see you get in trouble 'cause of me, Reyes."

Gabriel rolled his eyes. He'd swear Morrison was being a contrarian asshole on purpose. "Why the fuck not? S'what I would have done in your place." 

"You could have, but you kept quiet, same as me. You ain't a snitch either." There was a pause, the heavy drum of rain overhead drowning out all other noise. "Especially since I was deliberately riling you up." 

"Jackass. You were doing it on purpose?" Gabriel let out an explosive sigh and counted backwards from ten. "You better explain before I toss you back into the river and laugh. I'm sure as shit not going to save you again." 

"Well," Morrison said, the smirk audible in his voice, as if he was fucking delighted Gabriel was about to punch him in his perfect teeth, "you're kind of an ass. It's fun to see you lose the tough-guy act long enough to show some genuine emotion aside from, 'eternally pissed off.'" 

Morrison laughed. If it wasn't too much effort to move from his comfortable spot, Gabriel would have kicked him. 

"Y'know, Morrison, gals don't find that attractive. If you plan on getting some tail before you turn into a wrinkled dome-head, you'll want to lay off on sweet talking 'em by reciting doctrine." 

"Yeah?" Morrison laughed, rough and jagged at the edges. "Thanks for the advice." In that moment, he sounded like he wanted to be anywhere else in the world. 

Well, fuck. He'd touched a nerve and that hadn't been his intention at all. 

Guilt gnawed its way through Gabriel's stomach like the shitty C-Ration from last week. Morrison looked like a kicked puppy, God damn it, and Gabriel was not, actually, a fucking asshole. He could be nice. Sometimes. There was a difference between mutual shit-talking and the very real, very genuine hurt Morrison was unsuccessfully hiding behind a tight-lipped smile. 

Gabriel sighed. The things he fucking did for John Francis Fucking Morrison. 

"Thank you." 

Morrison turned to look at him. The frown creasing his brow looked ridiculous, just like the way his hair stuck up at odd angles as it dried. "Reyes, what the fuck." From the look on his face, you'd have thought Gabriel had just gotten down on one knee and proposed completely out of the blue. 

"You heard me. Not like it needs saying, but I'll say it anyway. Without you and yours covering our asses, we wouldn't be able to do go off and do the things that need to be done on these God-forsaken islands with their stupid fucking unpronounceable names." 

The ghost of a smile crossed Morrison's face. "Not sure how you manage to mispronounce everything from Peleliu to Mindanao."

"Yeah, well, while you're idling away on your boat, Morrison, practicing how to say all those stupid names, some of us are off storming the beaches and defending stupid sand bars." 

Morrison snorted. "Is that what you call tripping over nothing and falling flat on your face in the surf?" 

"How the fuck—there's no way in God's name you saw that happen from your fucking boat." 

"No, I didn't see it, but word travels. Also," Morrison said, an edge to his voice, "it's not a boat. How many times do I have to tell you? Unlike boats, ships must enter a harbor, which is why—" He paused. "You keep doing this on purpose." 

"Uh-huh." Gabriel smirked. He couldn't help it. "Didja know you blush with your whole body when you get really upset?" He pointed at Morrison's face and dragged it down an invisible line, stopping at his waist, where his trousers obscured the rest. Was it possible to turn red all the way down to your toes? Gabriel wanted to find out. 

"Shut the fuck up, you asshole." 

Gabriel mentally patted himself on the back. Crisis fucking averted. See? He was nice, Morrison, just like he'd said. 

For a time, the conversation settled into an easy lull, punctuated by the steady tattoo of the rain and the occasional futile attempt to slap away the God-damn mosquitoes. Morrison yelped when his open palm met a sunburned patch of skin, and Gabriel winced in sympathy. 

"You okay?" 

"Right as rain," Morrison drawled, gently prodding a reddened bump with a ragged nail bitten down to the quick. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Gabriel watched a lone mosquito hovering near the other man's torso. Before his brain could point out the dozen reasons to correct that course of action before he landed himself in hot water, Gabriel was already moving to swipe it away. Of course, Morrison took that moment to move, and suddenly, Gabriel found his hand on Morrison's bare chest. Again. Warm skin, muscles, blonde hair, and—it shouldn't have been a problem at all, but Morrison was staring at him with wide blue eyes and Gabriel realized he'd just been standing there, motionless like an idiot, for too long. 

God fucking damn it. 

Gabriel cursed and jerked his hand away. Before Morrison could say anything — the bastard always had a quip ready — Gabriel shoved his shirt at him. "Put this on. They'll have less to bite that way." 

"What about you?" Morrison obediently slipped the damp fabric over his head and tugged it down. It was an improvement. It was. Really. This way, at least, Morrison would stop his incessant bitching. 

"It's fine. Your complaining and fidgeting was more distracting, anyway." 

"Yeah, but now you're distracting me." Morrison gestured in his vague, general direction. 

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "What? Are you _queer?_ " 

Seconds passed. Probably a full minute, but Gabriel wasn't counting. There was no answer and from the sick look on Morrison's face — as if he was about to vomit on his boots — he wasn't going to ever answer. Gabriel wanted to throw himself into the storm surge. Fuck him and fuck him always putting his foot in his mouth. Could he ever say the right thing? 

Apparently not. 

The rational part of his brain pointed out that all the signs were there if Gabriel cared to notice. There was another part of him that wondered if he'd been deliberately ignorant for some reason he wouldn't even begin to think about, but it was swiftly overtaken by the anxious tightness in his chest that, of-fucking-course Morrison was queer and now he was staring at Gabriel with a tightness in his shoulders and the grim, accepting look of an animal trapped in a hunter's snare. 

Gabriel jabbed his finger into his chest. "I don't care if you're queer. Do I look like the brass? No. Nothing changes about you, got it?" 

Morrison leaned to the side as if his knees had given out. "Yeah?" he croaked out. "That's real swell." 

"First and foremost, Morrison, you're still an absolute fucking prick, and that's the only thing that matters." 

Morrison covered his face with one hand. His shoulders shook with laughter as he pressed his forehead against the bark of the palm tree sheltering them from the storm. "Now you know why I never talk about the girl I have waiting for me back home, huh?" 

"Do you…" Gabriel made a face. May as well get it over with. "Do you have a _guy_ waiting for you back home?" 

"No," Morrison said, soft and quiet. "Nothing like that. You're lucky you saved my life back there, or I'd start getting offended by all these personal questions." Through the gaps in his fingers, Gabriel could see the wry smile on his face. 

"Yeah, well." Gabriel shrugged. " _I_ figured lying was better, though I can't ever keep the details straight. Thank God no one but you is willing to call me out on the inconsistencies." 

"Like I said earlier: no one else but me would even dare to try." Morrison idly scratched at his most recent mosquito bite for a moment. "This might earn me another black eye, but have you ever—?" He trailed off, as if Gabriel was somehow able to read his fucking mind like one of those comic book characters. 

"Have I ever _what_ , Morrison?" 

"Nevermind." He folded his arms across his chest, staring out at a piece of debris flowing past them. 

"Ask the damn question already," Gabriel snapped. 

Morrison let out a long, slow sigh. "You don't hate me, right?" 

"That's not what you were gonna ask the first time, jackass, but I'll play along. Of-fucking- _course_ I don't hate you. Too much effort." His mouth twisted down into a frown. "For a while there, I thought _you_ hated _me_."

"You're kind of an asshole," Morrison said with a lopsided smile, "but then I got to know you better and I started to see all the little things you try so goddamn hard to hide. There's a lot to like about you." 

"To think the first person to tell me that is an absolute prick." 

"Takes one to know one." 

"Fuck off, Morrison." 

"Pretty sure you don't want me to do that, unless you fancy another swim?" 

Gabriel groaned. "Spare me the fucking agony." 

"Thought so." Morrison smirked. 

Gabriel knocked their shoulders together with a grunt. "Stop looking so smug already." 

"Can't do that, I'm afraid. This is just my natural expression." 

How someone could be such a charming, infuriating asshole, Gabriel would never know. What the fuck did it say about Gabriel that he _liked_ those qualities? 

The easy silence from before returned, and Gabriel let his thoughts wander. At last, after the curiosity had run him ragged and he really, truly had to know the answer to the question burning in the pit of his stomach, he _had_ to ask. 

"Hey Morrison?" 

"Mm-hmm?" He sounded half asleep, and for a moment, Gabriel felt a pang of guilt. 

"How'd you know you were queer?" 

Morrison opened his eyes, looked at him for a moment, and then hummed, the set of his mouth thoughtful. "Well, I _like_ girls well enough, but I realized I didn't like them the same way most of them seemed to like _me_. When I kissed them, I didn't really feel anything, but it was completely different when I did the same thing with another guy, y'know?" 

"Just like that?" 

"Just like that," Morrison confirmed. "Things would have been easier if… well." He shrugged. 

"Well, I've only ever kissed girls. Never thought there were other options, y'know? It's not exactly the thing everyone talks about." 

"Yeah." 

Of course Morrison fucking knew, but that wasn't what he was trying to say. And if Gabriel wanted to actually say what he meant for once in his God-damn life, what he'd been thinking about for a while and never wanted to admit before, not even to himself, but… 

Oh, fuck it. 

He might as well give it a shot. They weren't going to have an opportunity like this again. 

"I know you were about to tell me you fancied me earlier," Gabriel began, "and as ridiculous as it sounds, I think I fancy you, too." He pressed on, despite Morrison gaping at him like a fish out of water. This was probably supposed to be some sweeping, glamorous moment but Gabriel didn't have time for any of that ten-cent weekly bullshit. "I'm just not sure if…" 

This was really fucking difficult, and Morrison's stupid face wasn't making this any easier. He was hanging onto Gabriel's every fucking word, and hadn't Morrison learned by now that he always, always said the wrong fucking thing? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. 

"Do you _want_ to kiss me?" 

"Well, when you say it like that, of course I don't fucking want to—" 

"Gabriel." When the fuck had Morrison gotten so close and why the fuck were the freckles on his face so stupidly distracting all of a sudden? "I fancy you quite a lot. More than I probably should. But if I'm hearing you right, it sounds like…" He bit his lip. "You're being serious. You're not…" He choked on the end of his sentence. "It wouldn't be the first time." 

Oh, for Christ's sake. 

"Look, if you don't want to kiss me, Jack, I'm not going to force you, so you can just—" 

A warm, calloused finger brushed against his lips, silencing him. Alright then. 

Gabriel swallowed, licked his lips, and leaned forward, heart in his throat. If Jack was still having second thoughts, he could still back out; he could always back out of this moment, no problem what-so-fucking-ever. 

Like fucking hell Gabriel could kiss him when Jack — not Morrison, not when they were about to _kiss_ , for Christ's sake — was looking at him with an emotion he refused to name even if you held a gun to his head. "Close your eyes," Gabriel muttered, casting his gaze down.

Fuck, where did he put his hands? This wasn't like when—

Except Jack proved it was _exactly_ the same as kissing a girl when he closed the distance between them and pressed their chapped lips together. Thank fucking God. A warm hand cupped his jaw, and Gabriel's toes curled in his soaking wet socks at how nice it felt despite the sticky humidity, the buzz of a mosquito in his ear, and the uncomfortable cling of damp clothing. No, this was absolutely-fucking-perfect, even if the angle wasn't quite right because fuck, Gabriel had never kissed someone his exact same height before, and their noses kept bumping into each other every time one of them tried to fix the situation. 

Gabriel pulled away a fraction of an inch, and Jack, without thinking, followed him. "I think," he began, despite Jack seemingly determined to kiss him after every single word, "I fancy kissing you quite a lot." 

Gabriel shoved him back against the tree, a hand cupping the back of his head to soften the impact. Jack made a noise in his throat, and oh, Gabriel liked that sound a lot. 

Jack's shoulders shook with laughter as they parted for air. At least he had the fucking courtesy to attempt to hide his shit-eating grin, his breathing warm and steady against Gabriel's bare collarbone. 

"Stop it," Gabriel groused, his voice low. "I'm out of practice." He began to pull away, but the hand tangled into his hair tightened, keeping their bodies pressed together. 

"Trust me, I'm not laughing at you. This is just… I never thought this would… Are you sure? I'm sorry if I pressured you into—" 

Gabriel would never understand the way his mind fucking worked. Before Jack could finish the rest of his stupid, unneeded apology, Gabriel leaned forward and kissed him to shut him up again and again until it finally seemed to sink in that yes, they both wanted this very much. 

A large, warm hand on his waist prevented him from pulling away. And here Gabriel thought he was being a gentleman for wanting to give Jack some space, but this suited him just fine. 

"Once we get out of here, you owe me dinner and drinks, yeah? I saved your stupid ass, after all." 

"Of course." Jack made that noise in his throat again when Gabriel's hands wandered lower, and really, this was going to be a problem because Gabriel wanted to hear that sound again and again and _again._

"So…" 

"Don't you dare say anything, Morrison, or I swear to God, I'll throw you into the storm surge," he said, even though he didn't really mean it. 

"You should see the look on your face, Reyes!" 

"Gabriel." 

Jack blinked once, twice, his long lashes fluttering and God, it was really unfair how he could look so fucking attractive even with a mud-caked cowlick and grass sticking to the back of his neck. "You have to call me by my first name, too, then." 

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Jack-ass," Gabriel said, unable to stop grinning. He leaned forward, their foreheads pressed together. "If you'd told me when I woke up this morning that I'd get stuck under a tree with you while on shore leave, I would have laughed. But if I have to wait out a typhoon with you…" 

"One problem." 

"What." _Of course_ Jack had to ruin the moment. This was the first and last time Gabriel would ever be sweet on him. 

"This isn't a typhoon. This is just rain. It'll let up soon. If this was a typhoon, Gabe, we'd be—" 

Gabriel groaned and closed his eyes. "Do you ever shut up, Jack?"

"Guess you'll just have to make me." 

Good thing Gabriel was up to the challenge. 

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, Gabriel, please never change. There's denial, and then there's Gabriel Reyes' level of denial. Good thing everything worked out in the end, huh? 
> 
> With Dan's permission, I may write more between these two, since I have a few character studies, a ton of research, and too many plot-bunnies for an AU that's not even mine. Let me know what else you'd like to see!


End file.
